Unladylike
by WisdomState
Summary: One-Shot. Sequel, in a way, to "No Gentleman". Spoilers for S3:02. Edith contemplates her actions as she tries to keep up her spirits, heartbreak after heartbreak. Rated M for safety.


**A/N: **Whoa! Hey guys, the reviews that I got for "No Gentleman" were so amazing, I _had_ to write another drabble-style POV fic.

Good Lord, I love Edith/Anthony.

And I love all you reviewers, thank you so much for your kindness and support. :)

Disclaimer: I don't own Edith Crawley or Anthony Strallan - they belong to Julian Fellowes (who I am not tremendously happy with at the moment, because of all the speculations and nasty feelings I have right now about the coupling).

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Unladylike

Her mother called her love for Anthony Strallan unorthodox.

Her father had called it unhealthy.

Her grandmother had called it an obsession, which followed with the deeming of her behavior as very unladylike.

But that was the thing. Edith Crawley_ didn't care _about what the family thought.

She was so tired of being the forgotten middle daughter of the Earl of Grantham, that it seemed almost cruel now for them to be paying such attention to her. Such negative, dreadful attention. It wasn't as though she was completely happy to go unnoticed – Heavens above, if she had half as much attention as either of her sisters while growing up, chances are she would have heeded their advice with far less opposition – but now it was as though she had her chance for happiness, and everyone was determined that she be left alone and miserable forever.

And so, Edith Crawley had been determined to have her way.

Even when Robert had forced Anthony's hand – making him write to her to say that he would see no more of her, Edith countered with her arguments on the matter, sending a second letter to further push her point.

Still, the older gentleman kept to his word and she heard nothing from him.

Days turned into weeks, and she began to feel that familiar hopelessness she knew all too well.

The first time it had taken hold of her was when Patrick announced his engagement to Mary. The family was all so pleased, yet Mary couldn't have cared less for the gentleman. And if she hadn't been so in love with him, it would have all seemed so perfect – that Mary should end up with someone _convenient_ as opposed to someone she loved. Hopelessness took over her again when Patrick died, and though he was never hers, she felt as though she would never love someone that way again.

Then, the lovely Anthony Strallan came into her life. She was struck by him, his manner, and his awkward charms. It all suited him so well, and she allowed herself to hope that they might be married someday, when the war took him away on the day of his proposal. She was frightened for him, of course, but that was nothing compared to the anger she felt when she realized it had been Mary all along, who sabotaged the proposal, forcing him to leave. That was a feeling that plagued her in the months after the actual day, but her hope was rekindled when Anthony came to visit thanks to her grandmother.

And that was when things began to go wrong.

_Too old for me. _She replayed their conversations in her head as though they were fresh as the day they were spoken. She couldn't have disagreed more. 'Too old' was a poor excuse for a reason not to marry someone. And as for 'crippled', Edith had never been allowed to anything for the man – he was completely independent since the war, and executed everything beautifully with the one arm he had. She wouldn't see him push her away because he thought himself unfit.

Mary was happy, as was Sybil – and she married the chauffeur.

Edith thought to herself, _even if I become the most unladylike of all my sisters, I will get him back. _

But when her letters hadn't been enough, and his valet insisted that he was always away when she had turned up unannounced to visit made that hopelessness sink back in again. She felt her heart clench whenever she thought of him, of the tender way he looked at her whenever they were alone.

She missed the bright blue of his eyes, his smile, the way he insisted on opening the car door for her, even though she was in the driver's seat. Everything about him reminded her of what she had lost, and it took a full month for her to realize that her father's plan had worked – the gentleman Anthony Strallan wouldn't see her again.

The tears that came in the following weeks impressed even Anna, who was made of incredible stuff as far as Edith could tell. She offered what condolences she could, but nothing could be done for the depression that Edith sank into.

She had to escape the main house. Downton only reminded her of the feelings of negativity that had begun to fester there, and she escaped frequently to London. Eventually, she found a job there, with the help of Isobel and Dr Clarkson – who had been very obliging in her efforts to procure a job at a firm where she typed up papers, and managed secretarial duties for attorneys and barristers. It was all terribly exciting to her, and was a very welcome distraction.

Edith even began to believe she was doing well, getting happier. Thinking that _someday_, perhaps, she would come across another gentleman that she could fall in love with and marry. That she might be truly happy someday. For once.

But yet, there was the occasion when all Edith Crawley wanted was to be with that older man again, smiling and calling her funny. Calling her dear. She had always wanted more from him, she was ashamed to admit. His age was never a problem for her but for those moments when she thought of him in a more _intimate _light – when she worried that he would not desire her for her inexperience and ignorance.

Even lacking said experience however, she was still able to imagine him, only occasionally of course, with his arm around her, kissing her like the heroines in her favourite novels were kissed by their heroes. Her thoughts also wandered at times, becoming sordid and most definitely unladylike – which she didn't mind at all, as she imagined herself under him while he kissed her nude form, every inch of her he would cover with his mouth, and his hand, before he made him _hers_ over and over again. On nights when she thought of him like that, she kept the door shut tight and covered her own mouth so that her charged moans and laboured breathing couldn't be heard even if someone were standing just outside. She had acquainted herself with physical pleasure more than once, but she dreamed of nothing but Anthony's touch and attention when she was loneliest – something she was certain he would have been scandalized by, were he ever to know her deepest thoughts and fantasies.

And one day, who should call her name, but Sir Anthony Strallan – the man she had tried so hard to forget. She thought she had, until she heard her voice being called from across a desolate London street.

Her head turned at the voice, and to her absolute delight and relief, Anthony stood, looking as tall and awkward as ever, and as though he had done something very wrong in calling out to her. Her legs carried her across the cobblestone street before her brain could even react. She found herself staring up at him, with a smile that made her cheeks hurt – it had been so long since she had smiled so unreservedly.

She said his name, and looked up at the older man who had come so close to being _hers. _

Was it all in her mind? Did he lean ever so slightly toward her? Could she take that as a sign that he was still holding himself back, that he still wanted her?

She knew that such things could only be discovered through very unladylike means. And that was exactly what she did – after all, she simply _had_ to know. Had to feel his lips against her own – _he_ had to know how she felt. And he would.

Edith raised her hands then, raised them to cup his face and draw it nearer hers.

_Unladylike. _Her grandmother's accusing tone echoed in her mind. She ignored it. _I'll be unladylike if I damn well please._

And with that, she kissed him.

Not on the cheek, like she had done before, but full on the mouth. Her lips pressed into his and immediately she felt weightless.

The moment lasted forever, and yet not nearly long enough. She was dimly aware of his arm around her waist, and _Heavens _did it feel like perfection when he did that. When she pulled away, all she could do was look up at him nervously with a blush that took over the pale pigment of her skin like the plague itself.

He smiled down at her, and to her surprise, spoke first.

"I'm so sorry." He said.

What on Earth was he apologizing for? Hadn't she been the one who had exhibited unladylike behavior? Kissing a man who was _not_ her husband – not even her fiancee – in public? It was unheard of.

"Don't apologize." Was all she could muster, and a shake of her head.

"I have tried to stay away from you." He admitted, and she had to force back a practiced, stern lecture about how that had always been the wrong thing to do. He looked as though he wanted to continue, and she let him.

"But?" She prompted, suddenly hoping that their predicament was not as hopeless as she had thought all those longs months.

"But now – now I don't think I can let you go." He paused mid-sentence, looking over her with as much affection as would break her heart if it hadn't been so damaged already.

Still, the confession touched her. In fact, it was all she could have hoped for. Reacting at a rate that surprised even her, she opened her mouth in mock-surprise and asked: "You're going to steal me away, then?"

"If I have to." She grinned.

"That's not a very gentlemanly thing to do." She chided sarcastically, not caring whether he was ever a gentleman again, if it meant her current happiness might extend beyond just that moment. His laugh was so welcome when it came, the sound like music to her ears, or better still the feeling of _knowing _the sound of music to someone who had been deaf all along.

His response delighted her even more.

Leaning forward, she felt the blush in her cheeks rise – she thought he was going to kiss her – as he put his lips by her ear. Practically whispering, he said "Well, my dear – it seems I'm no gentleman after all."

_And granny, and Papa, and everyone can put that in their pipe and smoke it. _

Edith thought to herself triumphantly. It wasn't elegant, what she had done, and it certainly wasn't ladylike.

But what did she care, when even though Sir Anthony's warm hand had left her back, and she could feel his closeness like never before, tangible and real.


End file.
